


fingers burned, I start anew

by amongthieves



Series: big trouble (losing control) [2]
Category: Mindhunter (TV 2017)
Genre: M/M, and a needy Holden, and there's more rain, in which Wendy and Bill are flatmates, my attempt at character development
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-11
Updated: 2019-09-14
Packaged: 2020-10-14 10:46:52
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 11,507
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20599484
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/amongthieves/pseuds/amongthieves
Summary: A sense of hopeless; Bill runs circles and Holden chases him.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> shit goddamn fuck - I can't get these two out of my head. this is apparently a series now. and a two parter. I deeply apologize for any inconsistencies in this; I went off in a million directions trying to write this and only found the groove towards the end. I didn't explore Holden's panic disorder quite the way I wanted to, so I'm going to try and address that in the next part.
> 
> the title's from the song 'london thunder' by foals. will I ever come up with original titles that don't suck? probably not rip

Bill’s heard about Holden’s panic disorders; he’s seen the way the kid gets wound up, starts wheezing in the slightest. He remembers seeing Holden’s face, white as a sheet, and how he didn’t stop staring off into the distance when they got t-boned by that prick of a shitty driver. He was there to pick Holden up at the hospital, to give him a fresh change of clothes.

He had never seen Holden like that.

But in all honesty, Holden should get over himself. Not like he was the only individual dealing with any external or internal stressors.

Wendy’s been all sharp scowls and gritted teeth since their last meeting, arms crossed and tense. But she still did her job damn well. While Bill was happy to keep doing what they were doing, he could tell Wendy wanted a change. What that meant for the group? Bill didn’t know.

She had done well on the interviews. She was too smart for her own good - her small conversations with him had been intelligent but genuine. Wendy was someone that Bill didn’t mind sharing silence with.

Holden, on the other hand, struggled with it. Ever since day one, Holden always wanted to interject some sort of conversation, keep things moving. He could never sit still. Bill watched him out the corner of his eye when they drove, saw how he fidgeted occasionally on a long ride. Noticed how he bit at his nails, but never chewed them off. Anxiety, stress; common things for their job. Talking with murderers was never an easy thing — Bill could feel his stomach twisting during some of the conversations, and whenever he looked at Holden, somehow his face was usually calm. Most likely internalizing whatever dread or fear he was taking on.

But the new duress Holden’s been under, he seems to be managing it worse since Atlanta. Bill’s been happy to pin two of the kills to someone - that was one less person causing havoc out there. Like all other situations, Holden didn’t feel like it was enough.

_‘Don’t be fucking ridiculous Holden. You did good.’_

_‘It’s not enough, Bill. Someone’s still out there, killing these boys. How can you be so relaxed about this when you’re a parent too?’_

In a sudden surge of rage, Bill left with heavy steps and a slammed office door. In the last couple of days, he had shared what was going on with Brian, had shared Nancy’s move, told Holden about the first call he got from her. But Bill decided over the past couple of months to never give him the full story. Even while they had lied in bed together for a couple of days just after it had happened. 

Nancy’s voice wasn’t sad, wasn’t distant. In fact, she sounded happy._ 'We’re taking a break, Bill. Brian’s okay. We just needed a change of scenery. I don’t want to tell Brian everything that’s going on, it’ll stress him out too much. No need to alert everyone to the ‘D’ word around here.’_

We. Not just Brian, but Nancy too. She told him over the phone that she wasn’t wearing her wedding ring since she moved. Divorce proceedings - the words still throw him off.

It felt odd, sleeping on the couch she had left behind, in a home that was completely devoid of any life. Holden had provided some sort of comfort in the initial aftershock, but Bill didn't feel right staying over. Nancy was still his wife and Holden- he didn't quite know what Holden was to him.

After the first week, Wendy had offered him a room in her apartment. Bill was ready to decline - he figured Wendy didn't actually want him to live there temporarily - but when he opened his mouth, Wendy gave him one of her '_don't be foolish_' kind of looks.

_"I asked someone to move in, and it didn’t work out. The room’s just sitting there empty. I’m not home most of the time, so it would work just fine. It’s a ten minute drive away - just take the damn room, Bill."_

So it’s how he finds himself sitting on the spare bed in his pajamas, suitcase open on the dresser, reading over the transcripts from their latest interview, photos splayed out at his side. It was nice, not having to lock his work away - there was no fear of Brian finding it.

He misses him. _A lot._

The phone rings in the living room, and Bill looks to the closed door, remembering that it’s not his call to answer. Nothing here is his, except for his life in the suitcase. He looks back down to the paper, skimming over the words.

_"Wendy - hi, it’s Holden. I’m trying to get in touch with Bill but he’s not answering his home phone? It sounds disconnected, it just keeps doing the busy signal - can you get him to call me tonight? I also didn’t realize you got one of these messages machines…"_

At the sound of Holden’s voice saying his name, Bill stumbles out of the bed and quickly grabs the phone before the message clicks off.

“Holden?”

“Bill?”

“Yeah, hey.”

“What are you doing at Wendy’s? Am I interrupting-”

“No.” Bill pinches the bridge of his nose. He hadn’t wanted to bother Holden with any of this, wanted to keep things smooth at work (and he was doing a terrible job of it) but the silence on the other line makes him sigh. “We’re- taking a break. I’m staying with Wendy for the sake of sleeping in an actual bed and having cutlery. Nancy took everything. Except the couch. I always hated that couch.”

“Oh. Bill— I didn't it had... I'm sorry."

“Thanks, Holden. It’ll sort out.” Bill knows it’s not true but he’s not sure what he’d do without the thought of it working out with Nancy. She had been his rock for over a decade. “What do you need?”

Silence again on the other line. Bill finds himself growing impatient.

“Can we go for a walk?” It’s an odd tone, coming from Holden. He almost sounds on the brink of crying.

“What? At this hour? Holden—”

“Please, Bill. I wouldn’t ask if it wasn’t important.”

That’s not true. Holden asks for shit all the time, whether it’s important or not. But in the end, there’s usually a beneficial result.

“Shit, fine. I’ll come get you and we can… go to the park or something.”

“Thank you, Bill.” And Bill doesn’t bother saying anything back before he hangs up. Looking out the window, it looks be drizzling. He gets dressed, grabs his rain coat, and just as he’s about to head out the door, it clicks open and Wendy steps in, a look of surprise on her face at seeing Bill.

“Oh. Were you heading out?”

“Yeah. Just- got a few things to do.”

“At this hour? Well, enjoy.” She smiles at him and walks past him, dropping her keys in the dish. Bill lingers for a moment, wondering if he should say anything. “Are you going to see Holden?”

Just as Bill’s about to leave, he freezes, shifts from one foot to the other. “Why do you say that?”

“Just a guess. He’s not feeling very well today. Earlier— he mentioned you.” Wendy’s hiding a sly smile, but Bill can see it. She’s not being completely honest with him, but when does Wendy ever give the full picture? “It’s nothing to be concerned about. I’ll see you around.” She turns her back, done with the conversation and Bill mumbles a goodbye before closing the door behind him.

-

He pulls up to Holden’s and steps out of the car, and when he’s halfway to the front steps of the apartment building, Holden steps out of the entrance way.

It’s odd, to see Holden in jeans.

Holden gives him a small wave, and Bill nods towards the car.

They sit in silence, and just like every damn time, Bill can see Holden fidgeting. For the first time, to Bill’s surprise, Holden doesn’t say anything. He's been weird around Bill, in the office, in the car, at the cafe, ever since they had slept together.

-

The park isn’t very well lit, but the street lights keep it from being completely obscured by darkness. Bill parks and closes the door behind him, keeping an eye on Holden, who walks up beside him.

“You good?” They stand shoulder to shoulder, and Holden looks up at Bill with a soft expression, lips slightly parted. He nods.

The ground is damp from the rain from earlier, and there’s a cold chill hanging in the air that has Bill hugging his arms to himself. Even with a jacket on, the chill bites through him. Holden’s wearing a grey pull over hoodie, no jacket. Kid must be frozen.

“Bill, I can’t stop thinking about Atlanta.”

_Here we go._

In all honesty, Bill had thought Holden was going to go off about their tirade almost a three months ago. It hadn’t evolved into much. Bill didn't want to overstay any welcome. Even though Holden seemed to enjoy it, he always seemed distant. At this point, Bill had been over to Holden’s place four separate times. Once in the past week - after a couple of whiskeys.

The talk about Atlanta isn’t a fun either though.

“Yeah?”

“It’s—those women, Bill. They banded together and they had a goal, and they were smart, but they just weren’t… able do anything about it. It must be terrifying to feel that helpless all the time. No one took them seriously. They still don’t.” Once Holden got started talking about a case, Bill found that sex was the last thing on his mind.

Glancing over at Holden, he’s biting his lower lip and a strong sense of empathy is written all over his gentle features. His breath is slightly stunted and he's talking faster than he can keep up with.

“What if it were Brian? And no one was taking you seriously? How much anger would you feel? What would it drive you to do—”

“Don’t bring Brian into this. We've done this already - remember?”

“Sorry.”

“Holden, what the fuck is this really about? A park? Really?” And Bill’s never been one to mince his words, especially when it comes to Holden. “In the middle of the night? Wendy knows.”

“Wendy doesn’t know.”

“Don’t discredit her. She’s sharper than you.” The comment makes Holden pout. Bill can see the kid’s back straighten out, and there’s something about his expression that changes. It’s a little shift, but Bill’s been good on picking up on Holden’s cues, especially since Gunn made Bill his babysitter.

It’s funny how that’s turned out.

There’s a glassy look in Holden’s eyes, and Bill doesn’t clearly see it until they walk under a street lamp. Bill exhales sharply in frustration. He stops walking and grabs Holden's arm.

“Get it out, will you?”

And that seems to do it. Suddenly, Holden’s breathing is shallow and quick, and he’s backing up from Bill, raising his hand to his chest.

“Bill—”

Seeing Holden like this, his knees trembling and face flushing red, Bill wants to move forward to comfort him. At first, he had thought the panic was a made up thing, something that Holden could resort to if he was feeling uncomfortable. A way to escape. But as he turns away and makes his way to a park bench, reaching out as if he were drowning, Bill feels a lurch in his stomach.

He walks over to the bench and sits down next to Holden, who reaches for the little orange bottle that Bill’s noticed over the Atlanta cases. Shuffling over, Bill touches the back of Holden’s shoulders and he can feel a flinch under his hand. After a moment, Holden relaxes into his touch.

“Don’t.” Bill mumbles, plucking the pill bottle from Holden’s quivering fingers.

Holden, much to Bill’s surprise, doesn’t put up much of a fight. Bill returns his hand to Holden’s back, feeling the sweat through the material of his hoodie.

In the distance, Bill picks up the sight of a figure and within a few quiet moments, it’s a woman walking her dog. Bill gives her a small smile, and she looks straight ahead, not meeting his eyes.

He removes his hand from Holden’s back.

“Come on - let me take you home. You’re shivering.”

“Uh..." Holden swallows, looking down at his lap. "Will you stay again?”

Bill hates that question. He had stupidly set up expectations on their first night.

“No. Wendy knows I’m seeing you tonight. I would prefer not to arouse any suspicion, especially with the divorce.” The word feels like a hot coal in his throat. The therapists must love it to explain Brian’s fucked up state. Nancy said it would give them an answer, and give her something to build off from to create a new life. _'No more murder talks at the dinner table'_, she had said with disdain in her voice. It had only taken two fucking months. How long had she been processing that information before dropping it on him?

“Right.” Holden’s breathing slows, and Bill can see him focusing in on it. “Just one. Please. I can’t—”

In his palm, Bill offers him one small pill. Holden grabs it and leans back, dry swallowing it and looking to the dark sky. Bill looks at his throat. He takes out a smoke to busy his hands and distract his head.

The rain begins to come down, and Bill struggles to light his cigarette. “Fucking Christ…” It doesn’t take long for the rain to grow heavy and soak through them both, and Holden’s able to get onto his feet and walk back to the car, Bill’s hand on the small of his back. When they rush into the car and slam the doors, they both exhale slowly.

Bill laughs and Holden looks at him.

“You bring me out to a park in the middle of the night, have one of your panic disorders things, and soak me to the bone with the rain. You know, I was happily sitting on my bed when you called. I was also dry.”

“You didn’t have to come.”

“Sure I did, Holden.” Bill turns his head and looks at Holden.. “You’re a pain in my ass, but…” Holden was there for him when he needed it. It would be cruel of him to not reciprocate, especially after the past two times when Holden didn’t turn him away. “It’s good. Let me take you home.”

Holden doesn’t ask again about Bill staying, but he nods and looks out the window. Bill shrugs out of his jacket, throwing it onto the backseat. It lands with a solid slap, and Bill knows he’ll need a hot shower when he gets back to Wendy’s. He’s not going into Holden’s place because he has a feeling he won’t leave if he’s sucked in.

They drive in silence, and Bill could get accustomed to this sort of driving. Oddly enough, it feels out of sorts, like Holden’s not fully there.

It could be the Valium.

When they arrive, Holden's out of the car before Bill turns the ignition. He watches Holden for a moment walk up the stairs, and when he holds the door open for Bill, Bill gets out of the car and crosses the rain soaked street.

"Look, you're home, I should go."

"Just come in to kiss me goodbye, Bill?" And in the rain, with Holden looking like that, almost doe eyed, Bill can't decline. They go up the stairs, loud at this time of the night, and Bill wills himself to stop in the entrance way when he closes the door behind him. He doesn't take off his shoes.

"You're soaked - come shower." Holden turns around and his hands reach out to the collar of Bill's shirt.

"Holden."

"You'll catch a cold."

"Whose fault would that be?"

"Definitely not mine. You were out in the rain on your own accord." Holden closes the space between them, and Bill resigns to a kiss, tender and soft, and it feels good to kiss Holden sober.

The apartment is dark, and Bill can hear the rain whipping against the window pane. Holden makes his knees weak, and he blames Holden for the way he pushes him up against the wall, kissing him against the surface. It's like a match striking, and Bill wants nothing more than to consume Holden, keep him here, just the two of them. They're a wet mess of limbs, and Bill can feel his stomach drop as Holden presses his hard on into Bill's thigh.

"You're relentless."

"And you're staying." Holden whines, and Bill has to peel himself away.

"No. Not tonight."

"When?"

"Another time."

A look of annoyance flickers across Holden's face, and he stumbles away, waving his hand. "Alright. Go. See you tomorrow."

"See you tomorrow, Holden. Get some sleep." He watches as Holden undresses, leaving a trail of clothes to the bathroom. He closes the door before the briefs come off, and Bill sighs before leaving, thinking about that ass as he trudges down the stairs.

Bill tells himself that it's nothing. That Nancy'll rescind the divorce papers, that things will work out just fine, or that even if the proceedings go through, he'll find someone new - a nice girl. But hell, he's too old to try and date again and most women his age are already happily or unhappily married.

The idiot in him says that Holden's his only option. It makes him laugh.

-

"You're back sooner than I expected." Wendy's eyes flicker over the paper she's reading, a soft classical tune is playing from the record, and Bill tosses his keys into their spot on a table. He has a simple triangular black ceramic dish, and Wendy has a dark blue one. In the dark, they're hard to tell apart.

"He's fine. Holden's just being a baby, as usual." He hangs his jacket on the door and grabs a towel, making sure to stuff it underneath to collect the water.

"Good to hear it wasn't anything important."

"Yeah. Me too."

As Bill walks down the hall and into the bathroom, he closes the door and flips the fan on. Throwing his wet clothes into the sink, he hears Wendy's voice. He opens the door slightly.

"What?"

The record player is paused. "Don't fuck up this dynamic, Bill. I left Boston for this. Without Holden, there is no Behavioural Science Unit."

"You realize I created this before him, right?"

She laughs. "And he made it into something special. We both know that. Don't be an idiot, Bill." The record pin drops, and the music continues.

Bill closes the bathroom door.

_Something special._

Shit.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> 1985\. Bill tries to convince himself that he's over whatever the hell he and Holden were. Holden returns back from a year's leave. No one knows how to navigate their feelings.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> it turns out, if you plot out what you want to happen, writing becomes much easier. so here's part two, and I hope it's satisfactory! the comments have been overwhelmingly supportive and have definitely been the drive to make this part better than the last. I think i still got two other stories i want to add to this series, but if you enjoy, please leave a comment! I actually did research for this and stepped out of my comfort zone to try and make this a bit more in depth than the previous two pieces. hope the length leaves more to be desired! ♡

_'I thought you could use a pick me up.' _

In his hands, he holds a colorful vinyl cover. In all his years, Bill had never thought he would own a Queen record. _A Kind of Magic_. He remembers hearing a few of the songs on the radio, but the album had only been out about a month. Walking over to the player, he pulls the record out of the sleeve and gently sets it down, hearing the crackle in the quiet apartment take over. He drops the needle, remembering Wendy's record player that just kept playing, playing, and playing, and the room goes quiet.

He glances at Nancy's handwriting, the letter she had sent with it. To his surprise, he hadn't felt any sort of anger or sorrow seeing her update him for the first time in two months. In fact, seeing Brian's school photo, a smile on his face, Bill had felt a sense of relief. Nancy had been right. The fresh start had worked. Without him.

The guitar kicks in, and Bill leans back, feeling like he's in college for the bureau all over again. Without meaning to, he finds himself doing a small air guitar into the kitchen.

Cooking for himself hadn't been impossible, but it hadn't been a joy either. A salad here and there, some pasta, and a roast beef. Most lunches were at the cafeteria in Quantico (they had just finished a renovation this past week), and Wendy took him out for dinner every once and a while - her treat. He knew he was making more than her, but she always made him pick up the beer on the way back - so somehow they always cracked even. Unless she was in the mood for a bottle of whiskey, Bill always sprang for the good stuff.

Before he grabs his dinner from the fridge, some mundane leftovers from last night, he stops by the small fish tank he had picked up yesterday. A small goldfish flutters around, and a set of three tetras shoot past the small number of aquatic plants Bill had meticulously placed behind the castle. Sprinkling a bit of fish food up top, he watches as the goldfish happily floats towards its dinner. It was a good time for all.

Sitting down at the couch with his iceberg lettuce and tomato salad, he relaxes into the couch. Just last week he had thrown out the fuck ugly blue sofa that Nancy had left him with. With a recent bonus from work, he had decided to go for a solid three person _La-Z-Boy_, a chestnut brown sort of color. It matched absolutely nothing else in his bungalow, and he liked it that way.

After several moments, Bill sets his salad aside. He gets up, removes the record from the player, drops it in the sleeve, and chucks it into the garbage. Wiping the dust from the plastic cover, he closes the record player for good. Instead, he rummages through his CD collection.

He throws on Dire Straits' _Brothers in Arms._

Better. Much better.

-

He has an office now - a proper one, with windows. And a solid oak desk. _Head of Behavioral Science Unit_ written on an upscale plaque, his name above the title. Agent Bill Tench. It felt good, to walk into that every day. Wendy's office was beside his, and while her door was closed ninety percent of the time, she always had something to review with Bill, and vice versa. They had grown close over the past couple of years, and he was incredibly thankful she had approached him. It hadn't been fair, the way Gunn had sidelined her and she was just as sharp as the rest of them, maybe even sharper than Holden. In a different way. Bill stepped up for her, and together, with Holden, they had made an amazing team.

When he steps into the office, remembering that he hasn't watered the plant in the corner for over a week now, he notices that Wendy's door is slightly ajar. He knocks gently, and he hears Wendy's voice call him in.

"Morning." He sticks his head in and she looks up from a pile of transcripts on her desk. It wasn't just her, Holden, and Bill doing the interviews anymore. They had a whole team of people, hand selected by them. It gave them more than plenty of work to do when their feet were on the ground in Quantico.

"Morning, Bill. Can you close the door?"

Bill raises an eyebrow but adheres, letting it click behind him. He glances out window next to her door, through the blinds, looking down the hallway.

"It's Holden's first day back today."

"I know."

"Have you spoken to him?"

"Not since February."

"And how was he?"

"Functioning. You know Holden."

She sets the transcript down, crossing her arms, hands bracing herself. She sits like that for a moment, thoughts elsewhere while Bill leans against the door, and she gets up from her chair. She walks around the desk and leans against it, in a fashion that Bill's seen men do a million times before they're about to give bad news.

"You need to talk to him today. Invite him out for drinks."

"I sure don't. I have a date tonight."

This grabs Wendy by surprise, and it's her turn to raise her brows. "Really?"

"What's so surprising about that?" Bill smiles teasingly at her, and she returns the expression.

"That's a whole other conversation for another day. Is it someone from the bureau?"

"No, no. I don't eat and shit in the same place." There's a tense silence between them, and Bill shuffles on his feet. "Regardless, she's a nice gal. Divorced like me, two kids. She's a nurse, works in the hospital. Her name's Susan"

"Hm. Well, best of luck. But in all seriousness, please talk to Holden today." And with that, she returns to her desk, signalling the end of the conversation. Bill gives her a salute and turns to the door, opening it only to find-

"Bill. Hi."

"Holden. Hi." He clears his throat. "Welcome back."

"Thank you, Bill. You look good." It's a genuine comment, and Holden looks up to meet his eyes and for some odd stomach twisting reason, Bill can't meet his gaze.

"Thanks." He wants to say some superficial comment back, scratch the surface and get the interaction over with, but he finds it difficult to be in Holden's presence. "See you around."

"Yeah, you too." Bill leaves the door open for him, and Holden steps inside. Walking away, he can hear Wendy's voice and notice in her tone that yes, she did miss Holden. They all did.

His absence of a year had been difficult on all of them.

-

It was difficult for Bill to focus for the remainder of the day.

For the past year, things had been busy but quiet. Colleagues came and went, their team consistently grew and gathered more knowledge for profiling. They had been dispatched across the country, and even Bill had earned himself an award of achievement for his work. That plaque was somewhere still in Wendy's apartment, in some box. He had received it while Holden had been on leave.

Sitting in the conference room, with Wendy going through the killings of Larry Eyler, Bill finds himself glazing over. Holden's attention was rapt, and he was already engrossing himself in the material he had missed. Bill has no doubts that Holden had been following up on the murders from a distance, grabbing the newspaper every day, trying to profile on the go. Wendy had done a good job in the first month, making sure she dismissed him every time he tried to call for information.

"And this is why we have to look at your average Joe. Eyler had a timid demeanor. He wasn't threatening. Women weren't scared of him - unlike Kemper, who immediately creates a sense of unease. Killers don't look like monsters - they look just like you."

Bill looks up at this comment, and Wendy smirks at him.

"Is it the hair? I should change the hair." Bill adjusts in his chair to lean back more comfortably, and he can see Holden smile out the corner of his eye.

"I don't think it's the hair." Holden mumbles, playing with a pen between his fingers.

"Yeah? What is it?"

"Nothing."

"No, go ahead, Holden."

Wendy interjects, clearing her throat. "Your shirts. They're terrible."

Bill swivels his head and looks at her, offended. "My _shirts?_"

"We'll talk about it another day. Can we get back to the matter at hand?" Wendy taps the projector, and Bill holds his hands up in a mock defeat. "Thank you."

An hour passes, and they listen to Wendy just the way he knows she likes. She's a professor, a doctor, she's extremely well spoken and she enjoys educating them.

"Hm." Wendy looks at the clock on the wall. They've been here for over an hour. "I have a meeting to attend. You both alright if I leave you on your lonesome?"

Holden goes to open his mouth.

"Well, you don't have a choice. Bill, find some work for Holden to do. Maybe give him some of your workload." She walks out of the room, but gives Holden a pat on the shoulder before she leaves. "Welcome back, Holden."

"Thank you, Wendy." She closes the door behind her, and they sit in the darkness of the room, a photograph of a decaying body dug out from a grave left on the wall from the projector. Bill stands and walks over, turning it off. Holden reaches for the lights, and they flicker on, fluorescent glow strong.

"Bill, can we talk?"

"You've already started."

"About what was happening before I left. I don't... think we left-"

"It's alright, Holden. Don't worry about it." Bill shakes his head, and he can feel a sense of disappointment ease into the air. Not just from himself, but from Holden too. He hadn't expected it to be this hard.

"No. I want to-"

"I don't. Alright? Let it go."

He can see Holden visibly flinch, and Bill doesn't pay it much mind as he wraps up the cords for the projector. There's so many damn cords. Out the corner of his eye, he can see Holden begin to shake. Fuck. This again.

But just as quick as it starts, it slows. The buzz of the lights is replaced by the sound of Holden's breathing, slow and guided, and Bill looks up to see him with his eyes closed, mouth open after an exhale.

"Right. I'll leave you to it." And before Holden can say anything, Bill tucks the projector under his arm and rushes out the door. It's juvenile, but Bill's not sure what he needs to say, or what Holden wants to voice. Especially not in the walls of Quantico.

They work in silence the rest of the day, with Holden bringing him tapes for clarification on transcribing. Bill remembers them - they were the visits he had done without Holden, in the first month. Wendy had gone with him, and they had done a good job but yielded little results. The tapes had to be transcribed at some point, and Bill felt it fair to give the work to Holden. Let him dip his toes in slowly.

-

When Bill arrives home, late as usual, he realizes he has an hour to get ready before his date. Dinner and a movie.

He heads to the shower, turning it hotter than usual, and stands in the steaming water until it's too much. He lowers the temperature and closes his eyes, letting the shower spray run over him. Water pressure had been an important thing in his home search, especially after the showers he had at Holden's. If it wasn't ripping the skin off his back, it wasn't good enough.

In the bedroom, he lays out two outfits, stupidly similar to each other, and tries to decide. Maybe Wendy was right about his shirts.

He wonders if Holden has a multitude of new shirts. He remembers watching him walk around in his apartment, wearing Bill's large button ups, and a pair of black socks, nothing else. It had been damn sexy, and Bill always pounced on him in the morning. Their relationship had been a precarious one, never labelled and always good. They didn't talk about feelings, only talked about what felt good, to go_ faster or harder_. Sometimes they fell asleep on the couch together. Every once in a while, Holden prepared them dinner and popped open a bottle of wine.

Holden, cheeks flushed, wine glass in hand and naked, always was a touchy one.

Bill grunts. These are things he should not be thinking about on Holden's first day back. For fuck's sake, it's a_ Monday._

After five minutes of contemplation, Bill phones up Sarah and apologizes, but he needs to cancel the date. For work things. She understands, and she's happy to spend the night with her boys. She tells him to call back later to make another date. He's relieved.

Another five minutes later, Bill dials Holden's number. He hopes it's still the same.

"Hello?"

"Holden, hey. It's Bill." Success.

"Oh." A beat of silence. "Is everything okay?"

"Yeah, everything's fine. Look, I had a date tonight and it got cancelled. Want to go for burgers or something tonight? I got nothing in the fridge."

More silence.

"Yeah, sure. I'd like that, Bill. I'll see you soon." And Holden hangs up. Bill returns back to his closet, and picks the shirt that looks least offensive.

-

It reminds Bill of the night almost four years ago. Except that had been closer to the dead of night, and now Bill can see the sun settling beyond the buildings in the distance. The area's different. There's a Chinese restaurant where the Italian place used to be, and the streets lamps look more modern. There's posters for a concert plastered all over a redbrick wall, and Bill hardly even notices Holden until he's in the car, door closed.

He looks over and contains his smile to see that Holden's showered and cleaned up since he called. He's not wearing a suit, just jeans and a t-shirt and sweater, and it makes Bill feel a little more comfortable.

"Where do you want to go?"

"Can we just drive? Out of town? Anywhere."

It's a strange request from Holden, who likes structure and likes to know exactly where they're going, but Bill nods and turns the ignition. Soon enough, they're on the highway, heading out of town, the sun falling behind them.

The urban area dissipates, and the roads get smoother with less vehicles around. It's this kind of driving that Bill likes, puts him at peace.

Holden doesn't fidget, doesn't say anything, but looks out the window, watching the scenery go by. Over the next half-hour, Bill looks over at Holden a handful of times, expecting him to turn and meet his eye, but he doesn't.

"Holden, you've got to say something, it's seriously creeping me out. If you were anyone else, I might think you were plotting to kill me."

This illicit a small laugh from Holden, and he finally turns his body, looking down the striped white lines illuminated under the car's headlight.

"I don't think I could kill you even if I wanted to. You're twice the size of me."

"Hasn't stopped some of our perps before."

"They always go for someone weaker. A woman, young boys who haven't fully developed - they almost never engage with someone larger than them on purpose."

"Fair enough."

The silence lengthens between them again, and Bill wonders what in the hell did Holden want to go on a drive for? He can feel his stomach growling.

"Can we-"

"Bill, I'm sorry. I'm really sorry."

So it's a no on the food then. Bill looks in his rear view, anything to keep his eyes off Holden. A car goes by in the passing lane, and Holden turns down the volume on the radio. Pink Floyd quiets down to a small murmur.

"It was really shitty of me, what I did. I know that. I'm so sorry."

Bill had figured at some point in the evening that Holden was going to pull out his sorry card, and he had been ready to just roll over and let it fall between them. Theoretically, that's what he thought he would feel - but Bill surprises himself. A flare of anger spikes in him, and he feels his teeth clenching, fingers tightening around the wheel.

"Can I talk? Just-... let me explain."

"Well, I don't got many other choices, do I?"

"Bill-..."

To keep himself sane, Bill's eyes stay on the road, and Holden's voice beside him almost sounds like he's going to cry.

"Bill, I was falling in love with you. And I was panicking. And you know what happens when-... Christ, I couldn't breathe. I was scared every single day to be near you. I couldn't keep it together. I knew things were on the outs with Nancy but nothing was ever confirmed, and you never wanted to stay, but sometimes you did and I-... I had no idea what you wanted. You never said anything to me. The Valium wasn't working, and I-... I needed some help. I went and got help. I saw a psychiatrist - they suggested a leave from work, from you. I gave a letter to Gunn provided by the doctor and... he was angry. He asked me if something happened, if something was wrong with the team-" Holden's voice cracks, and Bill looks over to see him glassy eyed, cheeks red. Bill returns his focus to the road when he feels the car drift. "And it was so frustrating because we were just starting on amazing things, and I was determined to follow up with Atlanta but... I couldn't do it, Bill. I told Gunn the team was in good hands, with you. That I just needed some time away. That I would come back, and everything would be fine. I thought he was going to fire me, but he said- well, I don't need to go into it but he gave me a year. So he left it to you. And look, Bill, you've done some amazing things, haven't you? I'm happy for you."

The absolutely maddening ramble has Bill feeling a bit dizzy, and he can feel his chest tightening at the hodgepodge of emotions stirring. This was something he thought he had under control. Holden Ford isn't going to affect him like this. The time away was good for the both of them to_ move on._

He thought Holden wanted nothing with him.

"Bill, _say something."_

"Hold on a fucking minute. I'm driving. You asked me to drive, so here I am. _Driving_." He finds the next exit and pulls into it, deciding that they need to get off the road before he causes an accident. Out the corner of his eye, he can see Holden stiffening up, eyes shut tight, sitting up straight. It's difficult to tell in the dark, but when Bill sees the Potomac River, he thinks they must be near Widewater, closer to Quantico than he realized.

Everything seems like a big inky smudge of black when Bill parks, killing the engine.

There's the sound of crickets, Holden's slow breathing, and the gentle hum of anxiety that fills the car.

"Holden, I'm not sure what you want me to say to that. It's a lot."

Holden undoes his seat belt and leans forward, letting his forehead rest on the dash of the car. Bill leans back, fishing a smoke out of his jacket. In a few quiet moments, the car fills with smoke and Holden rolls his window down.

"I didn't realize it was that bad." Holden turns his gaze onto Bill, staring at him with narrowed eyes.

"Are you serious?"

"Yeah, Holden, I'm serious. I thought you just took a Valium and that's how you dealt with it."

"Last time I remember trying to take a Valium, you ripped it out of my hands-"

"I didn't_ rip it_ out of your hands-"

"You don't remember because you didn't care."

It's like a sucker punch to his gut, and Bill turns and squares his body with Holden's, pinching his smoke between his thumb and index finger. "I didn't care? Holden, what the fuck."

"I didn't mean that."

Bill squares his jaw and turns back away, turning to roll down his window and blow smoke into the humid night air. He feels himself slipping, losing control. Emotions have never been Bill's forte and they were partially to blame for his separation with Nancy. It took years of self-reflection to realize it, and even now, with Holden seemingly on the brink of tears, he doesn't want to wrestle with it. It's uncomfortable.

_'I was falling in love with you.'_

"I'm taking you back home. This was a bad idea."

"Bill, no-" And just as Bill flicks his cigarette out the window, Holden leans over the console and pulls Bill into a kiss. He can feel the wet tears on Holden's face, and he tenses up, feeling's tangled into a mess. Holden shifts, trying to close the space in between them, and the crickets seem louder than before, and there's buzzing in Bill's head as he pulls away, looking closely at Holden's face.

"You shouldn't. I doubt this is what your psychiatrist would suggest."

He can see Holden's response written all over his face. _It's not fair._ Just almost, he can hear the words in Holden's strained tone.

Pulling away, Holden turns his head and clicks his seat belt in.

The drive back almost feels muted. The radio is off, the roads are silent, and no one says a word.

When Bill pulls up in front of Holden's apartment, Holden's out the door before the car fully stops. He's about to chew him out about the recklessness of it, but Holden's face is unreadable. He waits until Holden's inside, entrance door slamming shut, before he drives back home.

Inside his house, Bill strips and flops down on the bed. It's been a long fucking Monday.

He thinks of Holden, teary eyed, speaking faster than he could keep up with. Lying in the stillness of his bed, he finally starts to process some of what Holden had said and it leaves his head spinning. Had they not talked about it? Not discussed the boundaries of what they had been doing?

In that moment, Bill realizes that no, he had never said he wanted to stay. In fact, he had been hot and cold about it, so he's not surprised that Holden snapped. He didn't even consider how that weighed in, and that the high stress combination of everything that Holden had been dealing with had put him in that position.

He thinks of one particular morning, on a case, with the sun coming through the blinds on Holden's bare back - how gorgeous he had looked, like a beautiful candid painting. How Bill had come up behind him, felt every muscle in his upper back, and had railed him while the cleaning lady had knocked on their door. Bill made Holden call out to tell her to come back later as he fucked him into the mattress. They had laughed about it after.

Bill's cock stirs, and he can't help himself. With languid hands, he reaches down and strokes himself, thinking of Holden. It's always Holden.

-

Tuesday mornings aren't usually a problem for Bill. He arrives on time, sits at his desk, and figures out what needs to be done for the day. But for whatever reason, his alarm doesn't go off, his coffee is cold, and his jacket was still in the damn car but he spent fifteen minutes looking for it.

When he shows up, half a lukewarm buttered bagel in his mouth, the first person he sees is Holden. In the elevator. They don't say anything, other than a good morning, and when Holden walks out first, Bill can't help but let his eyes drop down to the back of his trousers. He wonders if Holden wore those pants on purpose.

Who was he kidding? All of Holden's pants looked like that.

Walking by Wendy, she throws him a side glance and Bill subtly shrugs, making a face of 'well I fucked up'. She shakes her head and turns back to Gregg, who has the dear in headlights face (as he usually does).

As the day drags on, Bill finds himself glancing Holden's way. Holden, who turned down having an office when it was offered to him, flitters around the office, his desk lost in the scramble with the other lackeys. He sits at his paperwork covered desk, a look of intense focus, and makes notes on a yellow paper pad. It's all he does all day. Bill lets it go. Focuses on his own work.

Around 4 pm, he gets a memo delivered to him. An interview for Holden and himself. Alaska. Bill looks up from his desk, though the window, to note Holden's absence. The desk is cleared of paperwork.

_Wednesday_. He meets Holden in the elevator again, just his luck. He holds a coffee mug in one hand, briefcase in the other.

"I like your tie today." Holden throws him a side glance. "It's not too offensive."

There's a smile, and it's infectious. Bill snorts. "Thanks."

_Thursday_. Holden comes to him with paperwork about the case they're interviewing next week. The plane tickets have been sorted out, and Holden's curious about the predatory nature of the killer, and how he escaped the cops once. Bill's still not sure he wants to face the cold in Alaska.

_Friday._ Wendy and Holden are laughing in her office. It's as if nothing's changed. They both wave good morning to him. He leaves his office door open.

Bill calls the nurse back. He tells her that he's sorry, but it just won't work out with their schedules. She sounds disappointed, but once again, also understanding. When he hangs up the phone, he leans back into his chair and looks out at the window.

"No date tonight?"

Bill nearly jumps out of his chair, and Holden gives him an apologetic look.

"No. Not tonight. Got other things to focus on." Bill gestures to his desk, covered with invoices, itineraries of the other BSU agents and their interview books, and photos of multiple murders. Sometimes it takes him a moment to remember which one is from where. "She was nice but..."

"Too nice?"

"Too nice." Bill nods and rubs at his eyes, feeling a sudden fatigue wash over him and coat his bones. He feels heavy and ready for a good weekend of sleep and lazing around in the sun. Perhaps a round of golf, if he can find someone to rope into beer filled afternoon on the green.

"I was just coming to ask if you were comfortable with the two of us going to Alaska. If not, Wendy could sub in for me or-"

"Holden, it's fine. We talked, we're good." Bill waves his hand at him, and he can see that Holden's not entirely buying it, but Bill puts work first. He always has. And technically, they have talked about it. "Just don't be weird about it. We got the budget for separate rooms."

"That's new."

"Welcome to the new and improved BSU." Bill grins and Holden half-heartedly returns the smile before turning on his heel.

-

Alaska goes fine. So does the two more visits to California. Holden's smart as a whip, knows how to use his mouth to get what he wants. Murderers spill their confessions without even realizing that they're doing it. Every single time, Bill's in awe. He remembers their late night celebrations, Holden's hangover migraines in the morning.

In Alaska, they got invited to go ice fishing. They spent three hours in the freezing cold and caught one fish. Holden's the lucky one to reel it in. It's longer than his arm, and the ice fishermen hail him as an east coast hero. Bill figured they were teasing him, but the pride on Holden's face is enough to keep the comment to himself.

Holden asked Bill to drive the coast for a day, and Bill reveled in getting a convertible and billing it to the bureau. When he pulled up in the car, an '85 Cadillac Eldorado, he saw Holden's jaw drop slightly. Sleek, shiny, red, and fast. They drove the speed limit (most of the time). Bill was cautious - he knew what would happen if he was caught on company dime. But to see Holden laughing, hair in the wind, it was worth the moment of risk.

The second time they go to California, they stop by a new _In N Out_, and Bill swears that the burgers are better than sex. Holden makes a snide comment about Bill's sexual ability, and Bill nearly whacks him upside the head. It feels good to joke around with Holden, to have him in moments where they aren't stressed and tired and serious. He remembers how difficult Atlanta had been, how it took a toll on the both of them, and he knows it's going to happen again. Sooner than later, they're going to get called on an investigation that's going to be stake outs in the car for six hours, no sleep, and high stakes.

But until then, this is good.

Or so, Bill thinks it is.

When he drops Holden off at his apartment from their last trip and drives home, he feels a pang of longing. Looking over at the passenger seat while at a red light, Bill sighs. Holden had been extremely good in the past several months, and he wonders for a moment if he's managed to turn his attention to someone else. The thought makes his stomach sink, and he tries not to dwell on it as he steps through the door to his house. After throwing his suitcase on the bed, he hears a knock at the door. Thinking it might be Holden, having forgotten something in the car, he rushes over and pulls the door open.

It's the mailman handing Bill a package to sign for.

He thanks him, closing the turn with a pit of disappointment in his stomach. When he reads the address, he knows it's something from Brian, and tears into the box.

It's a framed picture of Brian and Nancy, and someone Bill doesn't recognize. Drawn on Brian's side is Bill, done in black marker. There's a letter inside, as well as a few other things (a silver medal in the shape of a soccer ball, a craft done from school made from a toilet roll). Bill reads the letter, taking it over to the couch to sit.

Brian's writing has gotten better. It makes him smile.

_'I have a new dad now!'_ The line stands out, scrawled out in pencil, next to a smiley face. He reads it over and over again.

Bill lets his head rest against the back of the couch as he stares up at the ceiling. Nancy hadn't mentioned she had been seeing anyone. Why had she? She should have mentioned something, Bill should have the right to know. Or does he? After all these years, he had never mentioned anything about Holden, and she had never pushed it.

He reaches over for the phone on the table and dials Holden's number.

"Hello?"

"Holden, it's Bill." He pulls the carton of cigarettes off the table and lights one. "You know what I just realized?" He blows smoke towards the TV, watching it dissipate.

"Uh, what?"

"You've never seen my new home."

"No. I guess I haven't."

"Do you want to come over for dinner tomorrow night?"

There's a stretch of silence, and he can visualize Holden twirling the phone cord around his finger. It's a good image. "Sure. I'll be over around five?"

"Bring a bottle of wine."

"Alright. See you tomorrow, Bill."

-

Before Holden arrives, Bill starts the night off with a little bit of dutch courage. It's a Saturday, and he's not too concerned about how he's feeling in the morning.

In fact, he expects to be a mess. He knows this is dangerous territory because after everything they've normalized, it's not settling right with him. Wendy's words from years ago echo in his mind. _Holden made it into something special. We both know that. Don't be an idiot, Bill._

Something special. Bill remembers mulling over that phrase for days. Remembers thinking it while he kissed Holden's back after a particularly bad fuck where Bill couldn't get it up and Holden reassured him it was okay. While he picked up dinner for him on a night that he was too sick to go anywhere. They had each other's backs, and while that still may stand, Bill realized he had made a mistake.

He should have never let Holden go. He enjoyed the change to their dynamic, even if it had terrified him at the time.

When Holden shows up on his doorstep, hair gel slicked in, wearing his nice shoes and a tie and jacket, Bill can't help but laugh. Especially at the sight of flowers and a bottle of white. Bill's wearing his favorite cozy plaid pants and a blue collared shirt.

"Are you taking me to prom, Agent Ford?" Bill leans against the door frame, hand on his hip.

Holden looks at himself, a sudden self-consciousness kicking in, and Bill reaches over and pulls him in by the shoulder. "I think we're a little bit past prom now. Unless the FBI holds a prom styled gala - that might be our chance. But let's hope it doesn't come to that. I think Gregg might have difficulty finding a date."

Bill slaps him on the back and leads him into the house, which he admittedly cleaned prior to Holden's arrival. A sense of pride trickles through him as he gestures to the living room, which isn't as disgusting as he assumes Holden might think it would have been.

"Wow. This isn't bad." There it is.

"I knew you had low standards for my dwelling. Where were they? About here?" Bill points down to the floor, and Holden smiles, handing the bottle and flowers over.

"Maybe a bit lower."

"In the basement? Rough."

Never having thought about showcasing flowers, Bill had never bought a vase. Instead, he goes out back to the garbage and pulls out two beer bottles. When he returns to the kitchen to wash them out, Holden leans against the counter and watches him.

"Classy."

"You think I regularly have flowers on display? What kind of man needs a vase anyways?"

"I have one."

"Yeah, well, you're you. You're special."

"I'm touched."

Bill turns and looks at Holden, who's standing a little close, and they lock eyes. Bill swallows. Even he hadn't worn a tie, in fact he was dressed a little casual in comparison to Holden, but it felt like one was getting tighter around his neck.

Just as he's about to open his mouth, Holden makes a face of absolute glee. Bill follows his gaze over to the fish bowl, and Holden's moving over to look at it closer.

"Bill! A fish? I would have never thought." He peers close, getting on eye level. "What's his name?"

"Doesn't have one."

"Really? You never gave him a name?" Holden stands up straight and looks at Bill, and Bill shrugs as he wipes the bottles clean. He puts them on the kitchen counter, sliding the flowers into the two separate bottles. They look like carnations, daisies, and something similar to baby's breath? Bill's never been one to know what flower is what, so he looks at them momentarily before thinking, _yeah those are good colors._ And that's that.

"There."

"What about... Manson?" Holden flashes a grin, and Bill looks at him before shaking his head, laughing to himself.

"You're a moron."

"Hey now." Holden starts to go through Bill's drawers, looking for wine glasses. After the third attempt, Bill points him to the glassware, and Holden whispers a small thank you. "Who takes care of him while you're gone?"

"The neighbor, Jason. He's a personal trainer at the gym in town, so he makes up his own hours and doesn't mind popping over. He's around your age."

"Is he cute?"

Bill snorts. He looks up to see Holden with a deadpan expression.

"I'm serious."

"He reminds me of you a lot, actually. Except more..." Bill does a small flex, and Holden rolls his eyes. He pops the bottle of wine open and pours Bill a glass, sliding it over the counter. Happily, Bill accepts and their fingers brush together momentarily before he raises the glass to his lips.

"Wait. A toast." In a rush, Holden pours his glass and lifts it, the bubbles spilling over onto his hand. Raising an eyebrow, Bill raises his glass.

"To the hot neighbor. To Mr. Robinson. Who apparently reminds you of me.” Holden laughs, and Bill can't help but laugh either.

"Cheers."

"Cheers."

Their glasses clink together and they each take a sip, and Holden sucks off the liquid dripping off his hand. Bill sets his glass down and grabs him a kitchen towel, tossing it at him. They stand in a comfortable silence as Holden cleans himself up, wiping down the counter, and Bill sips slowly at the wine that's a little too warm.

"Holden?"

"Yeah, Bill?" He wrings out the towel in the sink, and Bill sets down his glass beside him.

"Why did you leave for a year without saying anything to me? Why did I have to learn it from Wendy?"

Holden pauses for a moment, holding the towel tightly in his hands, before he runs it under the tap, not meeting Bill's eye contact. "Well..."

"You could have called. Or left a letter. Or something." After their talk in the car months ago, the anger's simmered down. Instead, Bill's left with a void feeling, not quite understanding what's meant to be there. Anytime he saw Holden smile, or look at Bill with eyes of admiration, it hurt.

"I wasn't in a good place. Granted, that's... no excuse. I should have done something better than that. It felt better to leave with a clean break. I guess... I didn't want to break up with you. Didn't want to see what you'd say. To see if you would have been relieved, or even worse - maybe you wouldn't have cared. Bill, I'm sorry."

Holden wrings the towel out again, and slings it over the sink tap.

"Holden, I don't think you realize what was going on. My life was a fucking wreck at that time."

"I know."

"And that's why I don't get why you left. First Nancy left, taking Brian with her, and then you disappeared too. I..." Bill picks up the glass of the wine, downing the rest of it. It feels hot, going down his throat and into his belly. "I don't know how to explain it, Holden, but it felt horrible. It still does, I guess. I have no idea what the fuck is going on right now. Nancy's seeing someone? Fuck."

"I'm sorry about Nancy, I suppose? I don't know what you want me to say. I thought I was doing the right thing-"

"Well, you weren't."_ I loved you too._ Say it, coward.

**Say it.**

"I-"

"I'm here now, Bill." The way Holden says his name, Bill feels his chest tighten again, and it's unfair. The way Holden looks at him, sets down his glass and walks over to him - it's _unfair_ what it does to Bill. "I'm not going anywhere. I'm staying here, in Quantico. I'm sorting some of my shit out, but-"

He keeps his distance, but Bill can see he wants to step closer. Bill wants it too.

"I didn't realize I never made things clear for you. I thought you were happy with what we had."

"I was happy, but I just didn't know when you were going to get bored of it. You're not exactly like me, Bill. You were coming off a divorce, you were lonely. I didn't want to wait around to be tossed aside when you found something better."

And there it is. Something that Bill understands.

"Holden. Come here."

The first few steps are tentative, and Bill reaches out and it seems to be enough, because Holden is in his arms, kissing him.

"We were good, together. Interviewing. Travelling. It was so good." Bill murmurs, cupping Holden's face, and Holden's not giving him much space to talk, kissing him desperately, trying to catch up on the years missed.

"I know." Holden exhales, hands grabbing the front of Bill's shirt.

Bill grabs Holden and pushes him onto the counter, moving between his legs. Holden lets him move in close, and Bill groans into his mouth, hands already working at the buttons on Holden's shirt.

"Wait- Bill-"

Bill kisses at his neck, sighing, hands moving to his hips. "What?"

"This- do you really want this? Is this some outlet for you? Or... do you want something more? I gotta know, right now."

The thought is sobering, and Bill pulls back slightly, his hands on Holden's thighs, rubbing against the fabric of his pants. He chews on the inside of his cheek, thinking of what it would mean. A relationship with a man? It could never be public. They'd both be fired, careers turned into dust.

"I'd like to try. If you're willing to try. But if this is just some... fuck to you - then I have to know, Bill. I can't..." Bill raises his head, leaning in to kiss Holden. Holden tenses and pulls back. "Bill."

"I want to try."

The smile that spreads across Holden's face makes Bill's stomach drop. He's never seen him so damn happy before.

"Good." Bill doesn't allow him to say much more, busying his mouth with his own, kissing him until his lips feel raw. "Show me the bedroom - you never gave me a house tour."

It feels good, and it feels right, and Bill's not ashamed to lead Holden to his bedroom, turning the night side lamp on. Holden undresses himself and Bill watches, letting Holden straddle his lap once his underwear hit the floor. He's seen him naked before, but this time feels different.

Holden takes his time undressing Bill, dragging it out, removing each article one by one until Bill cusses him out, grabbing a fistful of his hair and kissing him with fervor. Holden moans into his mouth, and Bill feels his interested cock straining against his boxers until Holden finally removes them. Before Bill can ask him what he wants, Holden's mouth is on his dick, and Bill bucks his hips, trying not to finish before they even start. It's been a while, but he's not going to tell Holden that. Looking down, Bill watches Holden drag his tongue up along the side of his dick, and he moans Holden's name with a languid breath.

Bill pulls him up, hand on the back of his neck, and kisses him again before pushing Holden towards the headboard. Climbing on top of him, Bill pushes their bodies together, and they're sweat slicked, already breathing hard against each other. Bill grabs their cocks, rubbing them together, and Holden's mouth drops open. "Bill- please, please..."

"You say my name a lot - you ever notice that?" Bill reaches over into the side table,pulling out a small bottle of lubricant. Leftover from their earlier tirades. It's old, but should still do the job.

"I like saying your name."

"Say it again."

_"Bill-"_

He's cut off with a whine as Bill inserts a finger inside of him, easily moving up to two after a few thrusts. He wraps his legs around Bill, ankles locking behind his back, pulling him in closer, grabbing onto the headboard behind him. With a smirk, Bill scoots down and takes Holden's cock into his mouth for the first time, trying to mimics what Holden always did that felt so damn amazing. It seems to work, as a string of deviant words tumble out of Holden's lips.

"_Bill, oh fuck-_" Not wanting to push his luck, Bill pulls away and strokes his own cock, coating it thick with lubricant. "_Bill, Bill-_" It almost sounds like begging, and Bill's happy to oblige, not taking a second longer to push himself inside of Holden. He missed this tight, warm feeling that was Holden. Nothing else felt like it. Grabbing Holden's hips, he pulls him further onto his cock, and Holden grips at the headboard.

"_Oh fuck, I missed this-_" So the feeling is wonderfully mutual. The back of Holden's head bangs against the wall as Bill thrusts into him, thighs burning already from the effort. "Fuck-" To his surprise, Bill had almost forgotten the mouth on Holden, as if that could even be possible. It's such a shocking sight, to see someone who presents himself in such a particular way in the field, to be so loose and malleable in Bill's calloused hands. In fact, fucking Holden like this reminds him of their first time, Holden grinding down on him. This time, Bill has the control, and he loves to remind Holden of it.

"Holden, fuck-" He likes to say Holden's name too, and it feels deliciously sweet on his tongue as his abdomen tightens, and he knows he doesn't have much left. "_I fucking love you_."

It dazes the both of them as Bill reaches climax, his body jerking awkwardly as he tries to ride out the wave of pleasure that makes his head spin.

"You what?"

"Huh?" Bill pants, hands still gripped on Holden's slick hips, and he can feel several beads of sweat running down his back. He notices that Holden's still hard, that he hasn't climaxed yet, and Bill moves to help him, but Holden continues to stare at him.

"You just said that you love me."

"Did I?" Bill wraps his hand around Holden, squeezing him. Holden moans, letting his head drop forward as he shivers.

"Y-Yeah-" It doesn't take much more, with Bill's cock still inside of him, for Holden to come on Bill's hand, and Bill slides out of him as Holden jerks his hips upwards. With his spare hand, Bill reaches up and touches Holden's cheek, and he feels Holden completely relax into his touch. Their foreheads press against each other, and Bill can't help but start to laugh.

"What's so funny?"

"I said I love you. During sex. Like an idiot."

"You did." Holden runs his hands through Bill's hair, grazing his ear, making Bill’s skin raise with goosebumps.

"I meant to say it a long time ago, but I never got the chance."

"Are you serious?" Holden pulls back and looks at him, brows knitted. Bill gives him another one of his shrugs before he grabs a pair of underwear from behind them, wiping his hand off. "You're an asshole. Say it again."

Bill rolls onto his side, letting Holden shuffle and snuggle up to him, kissing along his chest. "Say what again?"

_"Bill."_

"Hm." He rolls onto his back, and Holden leans over him, making a face that almost resembles a pout. "I love-" Holden interrupts him with a kiss, and he can feel him smiling through it, and he kisses him back, comfortable and lazy.

"I love you too, Bill Tench." Holden mumbles between kisses, and not before long, Bill passes out.

He wakes the next morning to Holden curled into his side, hair slightly damp from presumably a late night shower, both of them under the sheets. He wraps his arms around him tightly, wondering what's to come next. If he's made the right decision. And to his surprise, he’s confident that he has. 

-

"So. Today's move in day, hm?" Wendy sets a small wrapped present down on Bill's desk, and he looks up at her with a frown.

"Wendy. I told you not to get anything."

She shrugs, looking off into the distance. "I didn't get the memo, I guess."

"I told you. Right to your face."

"Whoops." She taps it again and Bill rolls his eyes, picking up the package. "Well, I'm glad he got his shit together. That apartment was costing too much, and it wasn't even a good apartment."

"Just like yours?"

She waves him off. "Happy move in day. Enjoy." She gives him a smile before leaving, closing the office door behind her with a gentle click. Bill pulls the ribbon and opens the box, finding a set of mugs stacked on top of each other. Ceramic, hand made. One a light blue, the other a dark navy. He looks at the bottom to see the initials of W.C. underneath the glaze.

With a smile, he puts them back in the box.

Bill tucks the box under his arm and steps out of his office, locking it behind him. Holden perks up and stands from his desk, walking up to join Bill.

"You ready?"

"We don't have a lot of boxes to move."

"No, but you're carrying them all. I got a bad back."

"Oh, just suddenly?"

"Yup."

There's almost no one left in the office, and not many people know the importance of the day. It's good. Bill chose people who liked to keep their heads down, and they seem to be doing well. No one bothers him or Holden, or seems to suspect a thing.

They walk out to the car, Holden talking about the stack of catalogs he got from his old neighbor, who happens to be an interior designer. He tells Bill that the couch might have to go, it doesn't match anything, but Bill tells him that the damn _La-Z-Boy_ is staying and there's nothing he can do about it.

When they get in and drive off the Quantico grounds onto the highway, Bill can't help but reach over for Holden's hand across the console. "I'm ready." He gives him a tight squeeze.

"Finally." Holden beams, bright as the sun.


End file.
